“Please form two teams,” said our English teacher.
“Teams? What for?”
“Debating.”

The room erupted. Debating? In a public school? That was for private schools with blazers and confidence.

But we learned something useful. Two things, in fact.

First: to debate well, you must understand all sides.
Second: you must listen.

Understanding all sides meant research, discussion, interrogation. Not to weaken your position, but to strengthen it. You can’t shape a view without knowing what sits opposite it. Truth looks different depending on where you stand. To see it clearly, you need more than one angle.

Listening mattered just as much. When you listen, you give someone space. You offer respect. You slow yourself down long enough to process, to learn, to realise you might be missing something.

Fast forward to today.

I was talking with my eldest son about current issues: race, inequality, power, fear. We spoke about the proposed 6pm curfew for men following the murder of Sarah Everard. He told me about a young man hosting an Instagram Live to discuss it. He invited open conversation. What followed was shouting, interruptions, and abuse. He was blocked from replying. He later received death threats.

This isn’t about whether a curfew is right or wrong. It isn’t about defending his views. I wasn’t there. This is about listening—or the absence of it.

We divide everything into sides. Left and right. Race against race. Gender versus gender. Generations at war. Everyone wants to be heard, but few want to listen. We mock sensitivity, then demand vulnerability. We urge people to speak, then punish them when they do.

Who listened to Robin Williams?
Who listened when George Floyd said he couldn’t breathe?
Who listens to victims when they speak out and are met with ridicule instead of care?

I was taught we have two ears, two eyes, and one mouth for a reason. Listening is not passive. It’s a skill. A discipline. A quiet kind of strength.

Listening allows understanding.
Understanding allows progress.

We don’t get there by shouting.
We don’t get there through fear-driven reactions.
We don’t get there by judging whole groups for the actions of individuals.

We get there by acknowledging problems.
By understanding them.
By listening to those who carry the weight of them.

What we need now isn’t louder voices. It’s better conversations. Deeper ones. Conversations rooted in attention, patience, and action.

Disagree, yes.
Dehumanise, no.

Listen more. Speak less.

Reading recommendation: The Lost Art of Good Conversation — Sakyong Mipham